


something needed.

by fuckingkinney



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckingkinney/pseuds/fuckingkinney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey didn’t know what he wanted. And then suddenly, the front door of the Gallagher’s house was opening and it clicked at the sudden sight of Ian. He didn’t even know what he looked like, didn’t care. Not when Ian stared at him. Not when his face screwed into something to hide his original thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something needed.

**Author's Note:**

> set after 3x07, basically just.. an alternative to the fuckstorm that we'll be getting and this was originally just an idea I got and posted on my tumblr~  
> mention of rape/what happened to Mickey.

Mickey didn’t know how long he’d been ‘gone’, how long it’d been since he’d walked out of that house when the sky was turning pink from the rising sun as if it were some sort of shitty indication of his decision being a good one. But it had been a good one, to leave the Milkovich house and never go back. Because he couldn’t, not after that, not after what had happened.  
Mickey didn’t know how long he’d been at the same place, shooting the same doll as night and day passed him. He knew that one day, Ian had turned up though. Had wanted to talk. Mickey didn’t want to talk, didn’t need to talk. He just needed to carry on shooting at the hooker that had fucked the faggot out of him until he forgot and Ian left.

Mickey didn’t know how many showers he’d had since then, how long he’d spent scrubbing at his skin until it was red and raw. It was still there, indented in him. So he kept scrubbing, eyes closed and pain nothing more than a throb in the back of his skull until the hot water ran cold and the sting burned him back to life.

Mickey didn’t know what he wanted. And then suddenly, the front door of the Gallagher’s house was opening and it clicked at the sudden sight of Ian. He didn’t even know what he looked like, didn’t care. Not when Ian stared at him. Not when his face screwed into something to hide his original thoughts.

“Mik—“

And Mickey lunged, forcing their lips together and his hands into the growing mess of ginger hair because he couldn’t talk. Didn’t need to talk. He just needed—He needed this. He knew this. He knew what he wanted.

He wanted the normal back, needed to forget and he couldn’t.

Either Ian did understand him or he mumbled it aloud, Mickey didn’t know which, because he was pulling away, pulling Mickey in closer to him and then dragging him past a sofa full of faces that were a blur and up the stairs.

“Liam goes to bed in a half an hour!”

And Fiona’s yell after them probably should have concerned him more, should have blazed a fire inside of him over how much Ian had said. Who he’d told.

But then his back was connecting with a door for a room with too little space in it and Mickey didn’t even know what he’d started to panic over.

Clothes were tugged off hastily, piling in a heap on the ground and neither caring about which belonged to who as the door was shoved closed and they forced themselves against it again. Mouths forced together and hands fumbled aimlessly, endlessly until one of them gasped out a ‘please’ that Mickey would forever deny if it was him that spoke it.

But then Ian was on his knees and Mickey couldn’t stop his mind from blanking over, relishing in the feel of hands across his sweatpants, fingers hooking in behind the elastic and peeling away carefully.

He felt the sob against the exposed skin of his hip more than he heard it.

And the illusion of what he needed was shattered and Mickey snapped his eyes open, darting them down towards Ian and the mess they’d become. Because that what they were: a mess. They always had been, from the start and then it was addicting and now..

Now it was damaging and Mickey needed it to be fixed.

Ignoring the barely there glisten on Ian’s face as he pulled him up, Mickey huffed a sigh as he pushed the pair backwards until they stumbled down onto a bed he assumed it was Ian’s. And if it wasn’t? To fuck was he moving.

And they laid there, the silence thickening until finally Mickey felt himself starting to crack within it. He needed normal. Not silence. How did he get silence?

He didn’t. That was the problem.

“You know I didn’t want to do it, don’t you?”

He finally croaked when too much time passed, when the air got too thick in his lungs and left him choking inwardly. When Ian had the nerve to move until they were together, side by side.

And when Ian’s forehead pressed into the crook of his neck, Mickey didn’t find it within himself to complain.

“I had to. I—Fuck.”

He hated this, hated talking.

“I didn’t want to and you have to understand that I had to. You know that right?”

Ian nodded against his neck. Mickey didn’t believe him.

But he accepted it, letting the silence lull over them again. Except this time, it was calmer, one that didn’t make him want to get up and run. He didn’t need to escape, just let himself give into it.

And by the time that Fiona came up to put Liam into his crib, she blinked at the sight of Ian staring back at her, Mickey Milkovich all but actually suffocated against his bare chest and out heavier than the toddler in her arms.


End file.
